


Weight

by Owlix



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gestalt orgy, M/M, Physical Restraint, Spark Sex, gestalt / combiner psychology, gestalt dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gestalt members take care of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight

They could have cuffed him. They must have known that he’d allow it, and it would’ve left all of their hands free. But they didn’t. They held him down instead, just to be close.

Bonecrusher, the heaviest of them, shifted above Prowl’s head, one big hand gripping each wrist. Mixmaster pinned his right leg, a solid and reassuring weight, his engine rumbling low and pleasant. Scavenger was lighter but no less steady, holding his left.

That left Hook and Long Haul, crouched close to each side of him.  _Too close, the texture of their electromagnetic fields crushing into his. Not close enough - they were still six different mechs, not one._  Prowl’s doors were pinned under his own weight and the pressure Bonecrusher was exerting against his arms; Hook’s lower leg pressed against the side of one, a distracting point of contact, and Long Haul’s knee was heavy on the other, pressure that hadn’t quite made it to the point of pain.

They’d had him this way for quite a while, now. Coaxing him slowly open.

And he was open, squinting from the brilliance of his own sparklight reflected on a ring of green armored plate.

Long Haul’s big hands moved over his chest, a pleasant heavy push and pull. “Shh,” he said. “Yes. That’s right.” Soothing, encouraging nonsense. Hook’s touch was subtler, far more pleasant but at the same time harder to trace or to predict. Bonecrusher’s hands spasmed on his wrists, grip tightening and loosening to the rhythm of his spark’s pulse.

This was not the first time that Prowl had done this -- exposed his spark to anyone outside of battle or a medibay. Not the first, but...

Hook slipped two fingers along the inside of Prowl’s opened chest plating and slid them slowly down. Prowl’s spark lurched, reaching for that hand. He made a raw sound that he should’ve been ashamed of. His chest plating shuddered, half-heartedly trying to close. It shook under Long Haul’s hand, but Hook held the other side steady and open.

“Shh,” Hook said.

Scavenger reached up to touch alongside Long Haul.Their hands moved together on him. Prowl’s shuddering slowed.

“S’all right, boss.”

“Yeah, it’s all right.”

“Relax.”

“We got you.”

Prowl had done this before, but it had been a very long time. Not since the war started.

_He’d been young and they’d both been inexperienced and impatient and so lonely. And both of them had been so sure they wouldn’t get another chance. They’d rushed things, trying too hard, moving too fast, each of them pushing themselves into something they hadn’t been ready for and neither willing to admit it._

The experience had been a bad one. It had left Prowl unwilling to try again. Other things, maybe, but not that. And after Tumbler left him, the likelihood seemed even more remote. The risk would never approach the potential benefit.

That was what Prowl had thought, anyway. Before.

Hook slipped two more fingers over the edge of Prowl’s chest plating -- inside him, fingertips dragging along the underside. He held Prowl open and dipped his other hand inside him, barely brushing the edge of Prowl’s spark. The other four stared, optics over-bright and hungrily following each subtle movement of Hook’s hand.

Somewhere in Prowl’s head, his statistical processor started to reboot.

It had crashed twice now. It came back online, ran diagnostics, and started churning through data, familiar and comforting even if it was running unusually hot.

Long Haul dipped a hand in close, fingertips slipping into his chest. Inside him, as Hook’s hands were inside him. Prowl’s chestplate shuddered, tapping against Long Haul’s hand. Long Haul pushed into it, easing it open again. His fingertips moved towards Prowl’s spark casing, not touching it, barely close enough for Prowl to feel them. Long Haul’s hands weren’t gentle, but they were steady. The closeness of that hand dragged at Prowl’s spark; like to like.

Prowl’s statistical processor finished running. It came to two diametrically opposed conclusions:

_Surrounded by Decepticons, held down, his spark exposed: threat level incalculable. Death imminent._

_Surrounded by mechs barely distinguishable from his own body, spark carefully caressed by hands that may as well have been his own: threat level negligible, near-zero._

It crashed again, taking his vision with it this time as it went. Prowl made a small, unintentional noise deep in his voxcoder. One of the Constructicons echoed it.

Prowl shuddered and winced. The Constructicons eased him through the crash, inexpert but carefully attentive; five pairs of hands holding him steady and soothing him with careful touches, five reassuring voices telling him that he was taken care of, five electromagnetic fields surrounding him, pushing close. All of them one short half-step away from being part of him.

“Shh.”

“Relax.”

“We’ve got you, boss.”

“We’re here.”

Prowl tried to acknowledge them, but the sound he made was not a word. And this time all of them echoed it - a broken moan that passed through the entire gestalt.

Prowl’s additional processor finished crashing, leaving a blank space in his head. His visual systems rebooted, but he didn’t activate his optics yet. He went silent and still.

The hands on him stopped moving.

“Is he all right?”

“Prowl?”

“You okay, boss?”

Prowl activated his optics, wincing at the brilliance of his own exposed spark as they adjusted to the light. He forced his vocalizer into submission.

“I don’t remember telling any of you to stop,” he said, voice staticked but clearly intelligible.

They all froze, for just a moment. Then their hands started moving on him again -- on him and _in_ him -- and he could see his own sparklight flickering rhythmically in response, reflected on their faces and subsuming the red light of their visors as they stared.

“Pretty,” Long Haul said. “You’re so pretty.”

“Even the sounds you make are pretty.”

“Now that you’re with us, even Devastator looks prettier.”

“And your spark.” Long Haul moved his hand closer, fingers brushing up against the edge. “Pretty ain’t a big enough word.”

Prowl could feel his spark straining to meet that hand, pulled in two different directions. It was too much, more than he had ever felt like this. It wasn’t enough - only two, not five.

Long Haul's hand moved. He stared. They all stared.  

Prowl had seen the way a living spark drew the eye of other mechs. He had seen soldiers stare, transfixed, had been near-hypnotized himself - that time when Optimus’ chest had been ripped open, the brilliant beautiful whirling glow... Prowl hadn't been the only one unable to turn away. Even that glimpse had drawn his eye like something sacred, and held it. And he remembered his awkward attempts with Tumbler - how they’d both refused to look, only to become transfixed and then ashamed, those stolen glimpse somehow both sacred and profane, beautiful and shameful.

But Prowl hadn’t anticipated this, not fully. He hadn’t anticipated the effect that this would have on all of them, even Hook, who had been trained to work despite the distracting glow of someone else’s spark. 

“Hey. Hey, Long Haul.” Scavenger squirmed, plating rubbing against Prowl’s leg. “Trade places with me.”

Long Haul didn’t look away from Prowl’s spark. “No. Shut up, Scavenger.”

“Come on. Trade places.”

“No. Why should I?”

“Because I want --”

“Too bad.”

“But--”

“ _Long Haul_.”

Prowl’s voice came out surprisingly authoritative. Long Haul and Scavenger went silent immediately, and the entire gestalt went still, waiting for orders. Brought to attention.

Prowl gestured with his chin. “Do as he says.”

A moment of hesitation from the rest of the gestalt, as a shiver passed through them -- spark-deep pleasure at receiving orders.

“Oh. Yeah, boss. Okay.” Long Haul shuffled to his feet.

Scavenger stood, letting go of Prowl’s leg. Prowl struggled the moment it was free, kicking and thrashing. Bonecrusher exhaled hard and tightened his grip, and then Long Haul was on his free leg, holding him still again.

Prowl relaxed into the restraint. Scavenger knelt down, taking Long Haul’s place at his side.

Scavenger leaned close and kissed him, needy, wanting approval. Prowl was too far gone to kiss back. He pointedly did not resist or turn away, approval enough. And Prowl could feel the weight of the stares from the rest of his gestalt.

Scavenger’s hand slid across his chest and joined Hook’s. Prowl’s spark reached for it, still wanting even as he was half overwhelmed. Scavenger cupped his open spark chamber, his touch a clumsy contrast to Hook’s subtle continuing caress.

Prowl moaned. He felt the impact of that moan shudder through his gestalt -- _His_ gestalt? When had he started thinking of them that way? He wasn't sure. Right now, it hardly seemed to matter.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Like that, boss.”

“Just like that.”

A third hand trailed up his torso before joining the two already in his chest - Long Haul’s - and then a fourth. It was too much, far too much, an intensity of touch that Prowl had never felt. And it was not nearly enough, and Prowl arched into it, back leaving contact with the floor under him. Above his head, Bonecrusher whimpered, his hands clenching tight and careless against Prowl’s wrists, hard enough to dent. He shifted his hold, managing to press both of Prowl’s wrists together in one big hand.

Prowl felt a fifth hand push its way into his chest, and his sparked reached for it. Reaching desperately in five different directions, finally, _finally_. And that was enough to push him over the edge, shaking, undone.

His gestalt eased him through it - up and over, shuddering and moaning, spark flickering, pushing his open chassis up against their eager, attentive hands. They eased him back down again, as he lay still, doors twitching under him as best they could, mouth open, vents pushing out hot air and drawing in air that wasn’t much cooler. Air that had been through his gestaltmates’ ventilation systems. Air that tasted like them.

The pleasure lingered, too much and too strong. He was too aware of each point of touch, of the five hands that hadn’t left his open chest and the way his spark still reached for all of them. Not quite complete, but closer, closer. Prowl wanted to pull away from that touch. He wanted to push into it. He lay still, doing neither.

At some point, his vision had gone offline again. He rebooted it and activated his optics to the sight of his gestalt staring at him, optics all flickering from his face to his still-exposed spark and back again. Hook withdrew his hand and Prowl managed to choke back his protest. The energy release had scorched Hook's sensitive fingers. He pushed them into his own mouth and absently sucked on burned fingertips.

Somewhere in Prowl’s neural net, his statistical simulation processor was trying to reboot again. Each time it crashed, it seemed to take longer to come back online. Prowl let it try.

“So fragging pretty,” Long Haul said. At some point he’d retracted his mask, a rarity. He was breathing hard, pulling in air through his exposed mouth in an attempt to cool himself down.

“Yeah,” Scavenger agreed. He drew unsteady fingers across Prowl’s face, thumb lingering on Prowl’s lower lip. Even that light touch left a tingling in its wake.

“Good,” Mixmaster assured him. “That was very good.”

“Don’t worry.”

“We’ve got you, boss.”

“We’ll take good care of you.”

“Yeah. We aren’t finished with you yet.”

Hook pushed his hand back into Prowl's open chest, fingertips moving against the edges of Prowl's spark. Easing Prowl gently and mercilessly up again.

Another hand moved, and another. Too much, and not enough. Too soon, but he had waited so long already. Too long. Prowl shut off his optics and pushed up against their hands.


End file.
